I suppose most people would wonder why that would continue to bother me even after I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. Here I was, training to be an escort for wealthy and powerful men, even women. What was the difference?
I guess, as hard as it would be for anyone to believe, especially my father, I saw my work with and for Mrs. Brittany as something that would give me respect and, most important, give me independence. To me, a kept woman was a plaything, something held on ice for whenever her patronizing lover had the time, inclination, or freedom to call for her. Even though I might have the same sort of worldly things, I wouldn’t have an iota of self-respect. No, I thought, if Paul actually offered me such a relationship now, even after our time together, I would turn him down soundly. The longer I didn’t see him, the more resolved I was about it.
Norbert stepped in and was there to escort me everywhere in the interim. The first thing we did, as he had first promised, was go to lunch up in Èze village. It was like being on the top of the world. He was right about the breathtaking views, the picturesque village with its cobblestone walkways and unique shops. We had pizza at a small restaurant and watched the parade of tourists from all over Europe, Asia, the U.K., and America stream by, some with guides rattling off details and information that seemed to float past them as their eyes went everywhere else.
I could sense that he wanted to talk about Paul but was hesitant. I pushed a little, since my curiosity was quite strong now, and he finally opened up.
“Paul has always had trouble being his own person. His father determined what would be his interests, who would be his friends in school, and, of course, who would be his fiancée. I keep waiting for him to cut that umbilical cord, which in this case is attached not to his mother but to his father. But don’t misunderstand me. I love the guy and would do anything for him. He’s essentially the brother I never had,” Norbert told me.
“And how do you get along with Paul’s father?” I asked. “Does he approve of the friendship?”
“Yes,” Norbert said, smiling. “I know what you’re implying, but with my love life the way it is, his father felt Paul was in safer company.”
“Safer?”
“I wouldn’t be introducing him to female barracudas who might pounce on his wealth.”
“You introduced him to me.”
He laughed. “You’re a sunfish, Roxy, not a barracuda. At least, not yet.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Perhaps,” he said. He had a wry smile. “I’d be glad to know that I underestimated you.”
“Glad? I see. You half wish I would get between him and his father, don’t you? That’s why you brought him around.”
“Moi?” he said, feigning innocence. “Heaven forbid.”
“Do you really think there’s any chance of that?”
He shrugged. “You’re a remarkable young lady. He has to be very impressed with you. I know I am.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he really knew about me. How much did he know about Mrs. Brittany’s company? Wouldn’t he risk angering her if he was instrumental in ruining one of her girls by getting her good and married or involved with someone like Paul who might tempt her away? Look at how much she had already invested in me. I’m sure she would not be too happy with her godson if she knew that. I thought it best not to bring any of this up, however. It would, in fact, violate one of the stipulations of the agreement I had signed. A Brittany girl never talked with an outsider about the company, nor was I ever to mention what training I had undergone at Mrs. Brittany’s Long Island estate.
Norbert sensed my hesitation and changed the topic of conversation to other things and the places I should visit while I was at Mrs. Brittany’s villa. He volunteered to do as much of it as he could.
Later that week, when Norbert took me to the concert in Monaco, I met his partner, Caesar Ferrante, a handsome, dark-haired Italian man who was one of the assistant managers at the world-famous Hermitage Hotel in Monte Carlo. I saw immediately why Norbert was so fond of him. He had a great, upbeat personality and was just as tuned in to style and culture. At times, they seemed more like twins.
Afterward, we had a great time together at a club that catered to both gays and straight couples but favored gays. I danced with both of them and at one point with both of them at the same time. We were out until nearly three in the morning. I slept well past noon the next day, and Margery didn’t attempt to wake me. Two days later, Norbert and Caesar took me to Sanremo, Italy, for lunch and some fun shopping. It was only an hour’s ride, but they were keeping me so busy with these trips, lunches, and dinners that I had little time to
pine over not seeing Paul.
And then, at the end of this week, Paul suddenly appeared one afternoon while I was lounging at the pool. Mrs. Brittany had just called to say she would be coming to the villa in two days. She said the media interest in my disappearance was waning.
“The magazine article appeared, but as far as I or any of my sources know, there isn’t much follow-up expected,” she told me. “I think this will soon be completely forgotten. There are too many young girls like you, anyway, for anyone to remember what you looked like or even care.”
“Then I won’t be here much longer?”
“No, not much longer,” she said. “Unless you have some reason to stay.”
“No, I have none,” I said quickly.
I wondered if she knew any more about my parents, but I was afraid to ask and show too much interest. I couldn’t help wondering how Mama had taken the failure of the media attention to produce any leads or result in my being found and maybe brought home. I imagined my father had berated himself for caring—or weakening, as he might think of it. I could just imagine him saying, “Well, that’s that. We tried. She doesn’t want to return. Don’t bring up her name again.”
Emmie would surely be terribly confused about it all. She had probably been right beside Mama, hoping the media attention would bring me back. Surely every time she saw her girlfriends with their older sisters, she thought of me. Young girls often idolize their older sisters and envy them for their freedom, their little love affairs, and their clothes. Whenever they can, they secretly put on their older sisters’ things or use their makeup. They love listening in on their phone conversations or reading secret notes. I knew that Emmie’s girlfriends who had older sisters surely mentioned these things and that she must have felt a great emptiness and envy. She’d had an older sister once, but that older sister had left without bothering to wake her up to say good-bye, an older sister who was probably more like a nasty dream.
I spent the morning thinking about all this and was heavily involved in my darker thoughts when Paul arrived.